Angel of Darkness, Devil of Light
by SandraTx
Summary: Nightwing and Daredevil team up when Bridget Clancy is accused of a grisly murder.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to someone else, not me. I promise to put them back when I'm done with them. 

** Angel of Darkness, Devil of Light  
by SandraTX**

~~~~~~~~~~ 

__

At the still point of destruction  
At the centre of the fury  
All the angels, all the devils  
All around us can't you see  
There is a deeper wave than this  
Rising in the land  
There is a deeper wave than this  
Nothing will withstand  
  
I say love is the seventh wave.  
-- Sting 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

** ~~ Prologue ~~**

Dick Grayson shook his head, trying to identify the sound that had awakened him. A-ha! There it was! He stumbled from the bed toward the pants that lay draped on a nearby chair. His cell phone was still clipped to his belt. He looked at the alarm clock and saw that it was almost nine a.m. 

"Dick, _why_ does your phone play Darth Vader's theme from Star Wars?" muttered a sleepy-sounding Barbara Gordon buried somewhere under the covers of the bed. 

"Because when it rings, it's generally bad news," he responded, flipping open the phone. "Grayson." 

"Dick?" said a tentative female voice on the other end. 

"Clancy? Is that you?" 

"Yeah, ..." 

Dick thought he heard her voice break as if she had been crying. "What's wrong, Bridget?" he asked gently. 

"I've been arrested!" she blurted out. "Some New York City detectives showed up at my apartment. They took me in for questioning, and I've just been charged with David's murder!" 

"What?!" 

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Dick, but I couldn't think of anyone else to call," she said miserably. "I don't want to worry my mum and dad since there's nothin' they can do from Ireland ..." She broke off, and Dick could hear her crying. 

"It's no bother, Clancy!" he replied. "Um, who's 'David'?" 

"David Munroe." She stopped crying and continued in a tense, angry tone, "I _thought_ he was 'Mr. Right', but I didn't know there was already a 'Mrs. Right' in the picture!" She paused, and then said more calmly, "We had been seeing each other for the last ... three months or so. About a week ago, I found out he was married, and we had a huge fight. I didn't hear anything more from him until the police showed up last night." She took a deep breath and continued, "At first, they said they just wanted to ask me some questions about David, but then they started asking me where I was the night he was killed. They showed me a security tape of someone who looked like me entering his apartment that night. Then they told me they were charging me with his murder! I didn't do it!" 

"Okay, listen, do you have a lawyer?" 

"No, that's one reason I called you - I thought you might know someone ... You've got to believe me, Dick -- I didn't do it!" 

"I'm sure you didn't, Clance," he said soothingly. "I'll get someone over to you right away." He wrote down the details of where she was being held and promised he would come by to see her as soon as he could. After she hung up, he bent his head down and sighed. 

"I didn't catch everything, but it sounds like Clancy's in trouble?" Barbara asked. 

"Yeah, she's been charged with second degree murder of some New Yorker named David Munroe. Why does that name ring a bell?" 

Barbara thought for a minute. "Probably because he's the third in a string of New York City policemen who've been killed in the last eighteen months." 

"Oh Lord, I remember now. They were even talking about it at the station; it was pretty sensational. Each of the victims was found naked, showing signs of some pretty rough sex, and was stabbed to death. One of our sergeants started talking about leaving Bludhaven to join the NYPD in hopes of getting some of the 'action.' Okay, I'm definitely calling Murdock." He sat down at the workstation in Barbara's bedroom and searched through the New York City phone book. Surely someone would be in the office by now. 

"Murdock?" Barbara questioned. 

"Yeah," he replied absently. He dialed the number. 

"Nelson and Murdock," responded the polite receptionist voice. 

"Is Mr. Murdock available?" Dick asked. 

"Yes, who may I say is calling?" 

"My name is Richard Grayson. Mr. Murdock met my father when he was visiting Gotham City a while back." 

A moment or so later, a man's voice said pleasantly, "This is Matt Murdock, Mr. Grayson. Can I help you?" 

"I hope so," Dick replied. "I have a friend who's been arrested in New York, and she needs a good lawyer. I'd heard of you from my ... father, Bruce Wayne, so I thought I would give you a call." 

There was a short silence on the other end of the line. Then, "I ... see. I take it you are in the same ... business as Mr. Wayne?" 

"It's something of a family business, yes," Dick smiled. 

"And is your friend also in this business?" 

"Oh, no, no. She ... doesn't know anything about that. Bridget just happens to be a friend of mine. She's being charged with the David Munroe murder. Will you take the case?" 

"I'll certainly go talk to her." 

Dick sighed. "If you can get bail for her, I'll cover it, but I have a hunch they're going to deny her any since she's an Irish citizen -- they'll worry she might flee the country." 

"You're probably right, but we'll certainly give it a shot." 

"I'm planning to visit her this afternoon. Is it all right if I come by your office to talk to you? I'd like to help in _any_ way I can." 

"That should be fine." Dick heard the smile in the other man's voice as he continued, "I certainly look forward to meeting you." 

He gave Murdock the case information on Clancy and hung up. Dick turned around to see a flabbergasted Barbara staring back at him. 

"He knows who Bruce is? Who you are? How ... when ..." She continued indignantly, "Why don't I know about this?!" 

"Hey, it's only fair that he knows, sweetheart! After all, _we_ know Daredevil is really a blind lawyer named Matt Murdock." 

** End Prologue **


	2. Chapter 1

** ** Chapter 1 ****

As Matt Murdock stepped into the dank interview room, the aroma of mildew and sweat assaulted his nose as his "radar sense" made out the form of the young woman sitting at the table. The shape of her obviously Chinese features was something of a shock, given her very Irish name, but with the ease of long habit, he kept his surprise from showing in his expression. 

"Ms. Clancy?" he asked, deliberately focusing on a point several inches above her head. 

"Might you be my lawyer, sir?" she replied. 

At least the voice matched the name, Matt thought. "Yes. My name is Matt Murdock. Your friend, Richard Grayson, indicated you were in need of a lawyer and thought I might be suitable. Is that acceptable to you?" 

She nodded, but as usual, he had to pretend not to notice the action. He waited another few seconds. 

"Ms. Clancy?" 

"Oh! Oh, yes, Mr. Murdock! I'm sorry! Yes, that's acceptable to me," she stammered slightly in obvious embarrassment. 

He sat down at the table across from her and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "All right. Now, I asked the arresting officer for the basics of the case when I got here, but why don't you tell me about your relationship with Munroe and what happened the last time you saw him." 

"I first met David when I came to New York on spring break. He took me out to dinner, and we seemed to hit it off immediately." 

Clancy continued her story. After she returned to Gotham City, Munroe made several trips to visit her, and eventually they began alternating between the two cities. Because of her heavy course load and his erratic schedule as a cop, they had not been able to see each other as much as they wanted, but Clancy hoped that once school was out, she could see more of him. 

When her last final was over, she drove straight to New York and met David at his apartment -- he had arranged to be off work for the next two days. They made love most of the afternoon but finally left the apartment around five o'clock for an early supper. They had just sat down at one of their favorite restaurants when a blond-haired woman in her early thirties came up to David and began screaming at him. 

"It took me a few minutes to figure out what she was saying, but then I realized she was claiming to be David's wife. She said she'd finally figured out why he was claiming to work so much overtime. Then she slapped him and stormed back out of the restaurant. David tried to convince me that she was some crazy woman, but I didn't believe him anymore. 'Twas the coffee pot, y'see." 

"The coffee pot?" asked Matt, slightly confused. 

"Well, that and some other things that had begun to bother me a bit. David always dressed well, but he never had very many clothes in his apartment. He was never home when I called, and he never really liked for me to call him at work. The coffee pot was the clincher. David was a coffee addict -- I never knew him to go for very long without a cup. But when I made coffee for him earlier that afternoon, the coffee pot and the coffee container were dusty. That made no sense." 

"Unless he wasn't really living in that apartment." 

"Right." 

"So then what happened?" 

"I'm afraid David and I had a bit of an argument of our own. Then I left him in the restaurant, walked back to my car, and drove back to Gotham." 

"What time did you get back?" 

"It was around eight o'clock, I guess, but I was too keyed up to stay in my apartment, so I went to the park for a walk. I finally got back around eleven o'clock or so. And before you ask, I'll tell you what I told the police -- as far as I know, there's no one that can verify any of that," she finished dejectedly. 

"No one?" 

"Nope. My apartment isn't fancy enough for those time-stamped security systems, and for once, none of my tenants needed anything from me until the next day. By that time of night, the park is pretty deserted, or if not, I doubt we could find anyone who could credibly say he saw me. Believe me, I've had a lot of time to try to think of someone." 

"Okay. From what I've been told, the police can place you in Munroe's apartment, they have witnesses to your argument, they claim to have a witness that says you were seen leaving a bar with Munroe later that evening, and you can't establish that you were in Gotham City at the time of the murder. That's the bad news. On the other hand, they have no physical evidence that could place you in the apartment at the time of the murder and they have no murder weapon." He gave her another reassuring smile. "I'm not going to promise you it will be easy, Ms. Clancy, but I do have confidence that we can win." 

He heard her breath catch slightly as she sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Murdock. I'll try to hold on to that." 

He pulled out one of his cards and gave it to her. "I need to go now, but if you have any questions, or you need anything, please call me. If I'm not available, ask for Franklin Nelson -- he's my law partner. All right?" 

"All right." 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Mr. Murdock? Richard Grayson is here to see you," his secretary announced through the tinny speakers of the intercom. 

"Show him in, please, Janice." Matt looked up, startled, as he detected _two_ people in addition to Janice coming through the door. The young man was obviously Grayson; although Matt had subconsciously assumed he would be taller. The beautiful woman accompanying him was a surprise as well, as she rolled into his office in a wheelchair. 

Once Janice left, Grayson walked over and held out his hand. "Mr. Murdock, I'm Dick Grayson, and this is my friend, Barbara Gordon." 

Startled once again by the gesture, but appreciating Grayson's discretion in waiting until they were alone, Matt shook hands with them both. The two men sat down, and Barbara rolled next to Grayson. 

"This may sound a little strange, but I want to compliment you on your building, Mr. Murdock," she said, in a pleasant soprano voice. "I sometimes have trouble getting around in office buildings, but not today." 

Matt smiled. "One of my former secretaries was in a wheelchair, and she taught me a lot about what worked best. When we designed this building, I knew she would've had my head if we hadn't done it right." He leaned back in his chair. "So, what can I do for you, Mr. Grayson?" 

"Please, call me Dick. We just came from visiting Clancy, and she said you had taken her case," Grayson replied. His voice was a pleasant baritone, and although he had something of an upper crust New York accent, there was an underlying layer of something more exotic. Interesting. "I wanted to offer whatever help I could -- and volunteer Babs for any help she could give." He turned toward his companion with a grin. "She's a research librarian and has been known to give the Gotham City PD a hand from time to time. I managed to persuade her to come help me." 

"You mean you pouted at me and begged and bribed me to come help you," she smiled. 

"It persuaded you, didn't it?" 

She aimed a lazy swat at Grayson, who captured her hand and kissed it with easy familiarity. He continued, "Honestly, we just want to help. I'll admit, even though I expected it, I was still somewhat surprised you weren't able to arrange bail. How strong a case do you think the DA has?" 

"The bail decision came down to Bridget's being from Gotham City and a judge's being up for re-election. Even though I offered to surrender her passport, the prosecution convinced the judge she was a flight risk. All of the evidence against Ms. Clancy is circumstantial -- they have no murder weapon, and nothing that can really tie her to the victim at the time of the murder. What they _do_ have are witnesses to the argument between her and the victim, physical evidence that she was at his apartment, and a witness that places her in New York with the victim about an hour before he was murdered. There's also apparently a security tape that implicates Bridget as well. Bridget says she was in Gotham City by that time, but she has no way to verify that." 

"Do you believe her?" asked Barbara. 

"Yes, I do." Matt sighed. "Unfortunately, the witness that contradicts her story is normally a very reliable man -- I know him. I'm sure there's some reason he's mistaken, but I'm not sure how to prove it." 

Dick nodded. "All right. I'm assuming that even though this case is almost identical to the other two cops who were killed, the DA is not going to bring those cases up?" 

"Right. There's absolutely _no_ evidence linking her to the other two murders, and they don't want to complicate their case. I've thought about raising the issue myself, but I don't think it helps our side." 

"Then it seems to me that the best way to get Clancy off is to find the woman who actually killed these men," stated Dick. 

"It certainly would make my job easier," Matt agreed. 

"I asked Babs to do a preliminary search to see what these three men had in common." Dick gestured for Barbara to proceed. 

She grimaced. "Unfortunately, the only thing I've found so far was that they were New York City police officers killed after picking up a woman for some casual sex. Two were beat cops; one was a detective. None of the three ever served in the same precinct; they didn't even go to the academy together. I haven't found any cases that they worked on together, nor did they pick up the murderer in the same bar." 

Matt said, "Maybe there isn't any common factor; maybe she only wants to kill cops at random." 

"But how did she _know_ they were cops?" replied Dick. "If they had all been beat cops, I might buy that, because of the uniform, but why the detective? How did she know he was police?" He sighed. "I think before we settle on random choice, we, or rather Babs, should do a thorough background check on these guys. I want to know when they were born, where they were born, where they grew up, anything you can find out on them." 

Barbara frowned in concentration. "I can get that information, but it may take a little while." 

"Can you do it from the apartment, or do you need to go back home?" Dick asked. 

"The apartment should be fine -- Bruce has a nice T1 line I can use to link to my servers. I should be done by the time you're supposed to take me out to dinner." She smiled at him. 

"Yes, I'm taking you to dinner and a show," Dick said, in pretend resignation. "That was the deal, and I'm sticking to it." He turned back to Matt and said more seriously, "Would you mind introducing me to your friend who's the witness?" 

"Why?" Matt asked, suspicious. Grayson certainly _seemed_ easier to work with than Batman/Bruce had been, but maybe the friendliness was as much of a front as Wayne's ditziness. 

"Well, I'd like to find out if he actually heard the woman he identified as Clancy say anything." 

Matt, remembering his surprise at the contrast between Bridget's features and her distinctive accent, grinned. "Good point. Do you want to go now?" 

"If you have time. Babs, why don't you take your Hummer back to the apartment, and I'll take a cab with Mr. Murdock?" 

Barbara agreed, and the three left the office and went down to the parking garage. Matt smiled in some amusement as Dick and Barbara exchanged a rather passionate goodbye kiss before she left. Dick saw the smile and started to sputter a bit before he returned a bright grin of his own. 

"Yep, I'm a very lucky man," he smirked. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

The cab ride to McMurphy's, the bar where Jerry worked, was quiet. Matt did not want to risk having the cab driver overhear anything, and apparently, neither did Dick. It was early enough in the day that the bar was fairly deserted, but Matt could not detect any sign that Jerry was there. 

"Hey, Mr. Murdock!" exclaimed the bartender on duty. "Haven't seen you in a while! How're ya doin'?" 

"Hello, Skip," replied Matt. "I'm just fine, thanks. Is Jerry here?" 

Skip grinned. "Naw, he went to go see his daughter." 

"She finally had the baby?" 

"Yep! A bouncing baby boy! She even named him after Jerry. From the way Jer sounded when I talked to him, he's not gonna stop smilin' until sometime _next_ century." 

"Do you know when he's going to be back?" Dick asked. 

"Well, knowin' Jerry and knowin' his daughter, I'd say she'll send him home in a couple of days, so I figure he'll be back on Wednesday." Skip became somewhat more serious. "You want me to give him a message?" 

Matt noticed Dick shaking his head and agreed with him. This question needed to be asked in person. "Just congratulate him for me. I'll check back with him later in the week." 

Matt and Dick left the bar. Dick then stood with his hands in his pockets. 

"Great. Just great," he said. 

"Look, we already know Bridget wasn't there," Matt said, trying to cheer him. "Two days isn't going to affect the investigation much one way or the other. Maybe Barbara will have something by the time you get back." 

"Yeah, and then I can go out and party while one of my friends sits in jail. Woo, what fun!" Dick muttered. He looked at Matt. "Yes, I know there's nothing more I can do right now. Yes, I know I promised Babs. I'll probably even enjoy it. But it still doesn't seem right." 

"Tonight, I'm planning to do some questioning of a more ... direct nature on a different case. Would you care to come along?" 

Dick gave him a grim little smile that suddenly reminded Matt of Batman. "Sometimes 'direct' is the only way to go." 

"I find it somewhat ... therapeutic, myself." 

Dick's smile gradually became more natural. "Therapeutic, huh? I know what you mean. Nothing quite like a 'hands on' approach to the legal system." He hailed a cab. "Thanks for the invitation. I might just take you up on it." 

"Don't you want to know where I'll be?" Matt asked as Dick started to get into the cab. 

"I'll find you. I learned from the best." 

** End Part 1 ** 


	3. Chapter 2

** ~~ Chapter 2 ~~**

Dick opened the door and wandered wearily through the apartment to the study where Barbara had set up shop. She looked up with a smile as he walked in. 

"How'd it go?" 

"Guy wasn't there," he sighed. He leaned one hip against the desk and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

Barbara quirked her brows in concern. "Was he tipped off?" 

Her automatic suspicion brought a half-hearted smile to his face. "Nah. His daughter just had a baby. He's supposed to be back in a few days. Based on Murdock's reaction, I think it's legit." He straightened up and walked into the bedroom to change clothes. He sat down on the bed to take off his shoes. Somehow he was not surprised to see Barbara follow him in. She maneuvered her wheelchair next to the bed and transferred herself next to him. They sat quietly for a minute or so. 

Finally, she reached over, and taking hold of his chin, gently turned him to face her. 

"Now, you listen to me, Dicky-boy," she said sternly, "you are _not_ going to pull a 'Bruce' on me. You've done everything you can do for right now. This case is going to take time, and you've got to be patient. You have done your duty as Bridget's friend, so now you are going to get cleaned up and take me out for a night on the town. Do you understand?" 

Her forceful tone reminded him of earlier days (and earlier lectures) and caused him to smile in spite of himself. She smirked at him in return. A very superior, self-satisfied smirk. Much too self-satisfied. He pounced on her and managed to pin her to the bed and kiss her until they were both breathing deeply. He pulled back to look down at her. The smirk had become a sexy grin. Much better. 

"Woman, if we're going anywhere tonight, you'd better get a move on. We need to be at the restaurant in about forty-five minutes," he announced as he rolled off her. She swatted at his back and got back in her chair. As she rolled toward the bathroom, he remembered to ask, "Did you ever decide whether you wanted to go to the concert or the ballet?" He had given her the choice on the drive up from Gotham: New York Philharmonic or American Ballet Theatre. 

She turned back around. "Hmmm. Ear candy or eye candy. Decisions, decisions, decisions." She rolled into the bathroom, and he could hear her start the bath water running. He followed her in. 

"You going to need your back scrubbed?" he leered with a grin. 

"Somehow I think I'll get done faster without your help," she replied as she added some bath oil to the water. "I'm in the mood for eye candy, so let's go to the ballet." 

"Eye candy." 

"Sure -- all those great-looking guys, wearing costumes that leave very little to the imagination -- definitely eye candy." 

Pretending to be hurt, he huffed, "What about me?" 

"What about you, Dicky-boy?" 

"Aren't I 'eye candy'?" 

"Of _course_ you are," she said mock-soothingly. "A girl just likes a little variety, that's all." 

"So you wouldn't mind if we went to one of those Vegas-style revues that comes to Bludhaven every few months or so?" he said in an idle tone. 

"That's completely different, Former Boy Wonder." 

"Why?" 

"Ballet is _Art_; those revues are just tacky." 

"Ah, I see -- it's okay for you to look at half-naked men dancing on a stage, because that's Art. But half-naked _women_ dancing on a stage is tacky." 

"I always knew you were a smart one, sweetheart," she said, patting him on the cheek. He growled at her and scooped her out of her chair and dropped her into the tub, still fully clothed. She retaliated by pulling him in after her. They eventually decided that since they were already wet, they might as well help each other get undressed. Then Barbara decided she really _would_ like Dick to scrub her back. And her front. 

Babs was right -- helping her with her bath did _not_ speed things up. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dick smiled as he swung through the city on a de-cel line, enjoying the warm summer evening. The ballet, _Le Corsair_, had actually been pretty interesting. More to the point, it had made Babs happy. His smile became a grin as he spotted a man in a fire-engine red costume almost exactly where he expected to find him -- on the rooftop of an old office building that faced an equally old, run-down warehouse. He landed a few feet away from Daredevil and walked over to join him near the roof's edge. 

Murdock turned to acknowledge him with a half-smile. "I guess you weren't just boasting about being able to find me," he murmured. "I'm impressed." 

Dick replied, "Well, since the Titans are based in New York, I try to stay current on who works where. You mainly stay in the Hell's Kitchen area, and this seemed the most likely spot for a stakeout." 

"Any luck on the computer search?" 

"When I left, Babs had lots of data, but no matches. She suggested the three of us get together and go through everything to see what we could make of it." 

Daredevil nodded. "I have to be in court tomorrow afternoon, but my morning's clear." 

"Great." Dick looked down on the decrepit warehouse. "So what's your situation here?" 

"You know anything about the Kingpin's operation?" 

"I know he's been one of the biggest players in the city's crime scene. I thought he was out of the picture now - I've heard conflicting stories, but I thought he was either in the hospital or dead." 

"Yeah, which created a power vacuum. I've heard some rumors that there's supposed to be a big drug delivery here tonight to one of the leading contenders to Kingpin's operation, Joe Fortunato. I've also heard rumors that one or more of his rivals, probably Monty Montgomery, may try to disrupt things." 

"Gotcha." Dick sat on the roof edge near Murdock and brought out his binoculars. He gave the area around the warehouse a quick scan to familiarize himself with the area and the layout. "When do you expect the show to start?" 

"If my informant's correct, we should see some action in the next half-hour or so." 

Dick glanced over at Daredevil. "All Batman told me was that you were 'visually impaired,' and that you favored 'other modes of sensory input.' " He grinned again; Barbara had been _so_ mad about not being told that Murdock was Daredevil. Dick finally got off the hook by admitting that he usually assumed she knew everything anyway, and wasn't it really Bruce's fault for not telling her when he told Dick? 

He continued, "If you don't mind my asking, how does your ... gig work? Are you really blind or what?" 

Murdock smiled somewhat sadly. "I am blind in the most literal sense -- my eyes don't work. But the accident that blinded me also made my other senses much more sensitive. I can hear a person's heartbeat, follow a scent like a bloodhound, and 'read' a newspaper by touch. The oddest change was the addition of what I call my 'radar sense' -- even though I can't 'see' you sitting over there, I perceive an ... outline of you in my head." 

"An _outline_?" 

"It's hard to describe. The best analogy I can think of is to compare it to looking at a statue -- you basically see a three-dimensional outline of something, but there's no color." 

"Weird." 

"Yeah," Murdock agreed with a laugh. "What I find even weirder is that even though I'm not 'seeing' any of this with my eyes, I still reference everything from eye-level. Including the stuff behind me." 

"Behind you?" Dick exclaimed. "Doesn't that get confusing?" 

"Sometimes. When I first realized what was happening, I thought I'd go crazy! But over the years, I've learned to 'focus' on what I was perceiving in front of me and treat the other stuff as a kind of peripheral vision." 

"I get it -- you don't really notice what's going on behind you unless something catches your attention?" 

"Right. I tend to concentrate a little harder when I'm in a fight situation, but I've found that adrenaline helps me do that." 

"It tends to sharpen everything anyway." 

"Yep." He paused. "I think I hear our boys coming. From the west." 

Dick swung his binoculars to the side street on the west side of the warehouse. "Yeah. I count ten guys headed this way." 

"Plus two flanking them on either side of the street." 

"The sides of the street are really shadowed. Are you sure those two aren't scouts for the rival group?" 

Murdock thought for a minute. "Could be. Monty's certainly sneaky enough. Which would mean that the rest of his group should be nearby." 

He sat perfectly still. Dick found himself almost holding his breath as he watched the almost-palpable concentration of the other man. Murdock turned slightly and cocked his head. He nodded. 

"Got 'em. They're circling around from the northwest, to catch Joe's boys from behind. Fifteen, including Montgomery." 

"How do you know Montgomery's with them?" 

"I recognized his heartbeat," Murdock said, matter-of-factly. 

"O-kayyy," replied Dick, startled. "What would you like me to do?" 

"You mean you're actually _asking_ me instead of ordering me around?" Murdock grinned. 

Dick laughed. "I can definitely tell you've met Batman. He does tend to get on peoples' nerves a bit. That's why I asked." 

"Heh," Murdock snorted. He fired a grappling line from his billy club to the roof of the warehouse and swung over there. Dick followed. 

Matt continued, "Anyway, there's a group of narcotics detectives who already have surveillance on the street down there. They heard the same rumors I did about the drug buy. I don't want to tip off Fortunato about the surveillance until the deal has actually been made. On the other hand, I don't want those cops caught in the crossfire of a gang war." 

Dick saw that the other gang was several blocks away. "So you want to take out Montgomery's men before they disrupt the deal, and then take out Fortunato and the supplier after the deal." 

"Right. The police get a nice-sized drug bust, and I have one less headache. I wish I could get Montgomery off the street as well, but I don't have enough on him yet to make any kind of major case." 

"Sometimes you have to take what you can get," nodded Dick. He grinned. "Shall we bust some heads, Mr. Murdock?" 

Daredevil grinned in return. "Indeed, Mr. Grayson! If you would care to follow me?" He launched a line and swung down to land gracefully in front of Montgomery's gang. 

Dick landed lightly behind him in the shadows. After Matt's spectacular entrance, he doubted anyone would notice him unless he moved. Daredevil stood in front of the surprised group of men and spoke directly to a tall, lean man with dark hair and a large scar that ran down his cheek. 

"Why, hello there, Monty!" Daredevil exclaimed cheerfully. "Nice evening for a walk isn't it?" 

The tall man growled, "Get 'im, boys!" The men surged forward to attack. Dick shook his head in resignation and began attacking the attackers. He was able to take out most of his opponents with simple punches or kicks, although for a few, he was forced to use his escrima sticks. Glancing up from time to time, he saw that Daredevil was fighting in the same fashion. After several more minutes, they met up with each other, and the three or four men who could still stand were limping away as fast as they could. Not surprisingly, Montgomery was one of those leaving. 

Dick looked at Daredevil, and the two men grinned at each other. Daredevil then launched a grappling line at the warehouse and turned to Dick. 

"Well, that was a good appetizer! You ready for the main course?" 

Dick shot a grappling line of his own. "Hey, as my girlfriend will tell you, I am _always_ ready! Let's go!" 

~~ End Part 2 ~~ 


	4. Chapter 3

** ~~ Chapter 3 ~~**

As Matt regained his lookout spot on the warehouse roof, he was momentarily startled to see Nightwing keep going. Then he realized the younger man had spotted the drug sellers and was getting in position to shadow them. The more he got to know Dick Grayson, the more impressed he was. In many ways, he reminded Matt of Peter Parker - otherwise known as Spider-Man. Both tended to use humor to disguise their serious attitudes toward crime fighting. 

Matt had heard Dick's mouth going non-stop during the fighting with Monty's men, and he had sometimes been hard-pressed to keep from laughing out loud at the wisecracks. And now this same comedian assessed the situation and Matt's position, and he took up the logical, tactical position as casually as he had walked into Matt's office that afternoon. 

Fortunato's men arrived in front of the warehouse just as an SUV carrying what Matt presumed to be the drug sellers turned the corner. Seconds later, the vehicle pulled to a stop, and two bodyguards stepped out, followed by a short, round man. Matt heard them confirming the deal; even better, he heard the same voices coming through the speakers of the police's surveillance post. He waited for the main buyer - Fortunato, presumably - to produce the money, which would be the best time to make his move, but Fortunato pulled out a cell phone instead. Matt muttered curses under his breath, and he heard similar curses coming from both the police and Nightwing. Unlike everyone else though, Nightwing immediately took action. 

"Babs, do you have my position?" Matt heard Dick whisper hurriedly. 

"I've got you, Former Boy Wonder. What'cha need?" Barbara replied. 

"Quick, scan for a cell phone call in my vicinity. It may be scrambled." 

As Matt listened to Fortunato set up the electronic payment, Matt wondered what Barbara could do that the now vociferously complaining police could not. The police were able to hear the conversation between the suppliers and the gang, but their equipment was not sensitive enough to catch the phone conversation, at least without exposing their position. Matt heard Barbara mutter under her breath for a few seconds. 

"Got it!" she exclaimed. 

"Great!" responded Dick. "Can you see that the cops in the building below me get this?" 

"Sure. Hang on a sec." 

Matt then heard a slightly delayed version of the transaction coming out of the police's speakers. The police stopped cursing. He grinned and looked over at Dick. 

Dick stared back and asked quietly, "So, did it work?" Matt gave Dick a "thumbs-up," and Dick responded with a grin of his own. Dick said to Barbara, "They got it. Great work, sweetheart! Thanks a bunch!" 

"You're welcome. Looks like a bunch of police headed your way. You two be careful!" 

"We will, sweetheart. I'll see you soon - looks like we've got some street cleaning to do first." 

"Bye." 

Seconds later, the deal was finished, and the two groups began to disperse. Matt swung down on Fortunato's men and saw that Dick had done the same with the dealers. Matt heard the surveillance unit give the signal for the police to close in, so he knew they only had to keep the situation contained for a few minutes. Four explosive noises worried him until he realized that Nightwing had somehow caused the SUV's tires to blow, which would keep the dealers from leaving that way. 

Matt laid into one henchman with a roundhouse punch and then took out another with a sidekick. He then had to worry about trying to keep from laughing as Dick began complaining at the lack of "witty banter." 

"Y'know, I expected more of you New York City types," Matt heard him say as Dick did a handstand, wrapped his legs around his opponent's neck, and threw him to the ground. Dick continued, without missing a beat, "If I wanted plain grunts and groans, I could've stayed in Bludhaven." ***Wham*** A leaping kick to another victim's chest. "I mean, you've got Broadway and _Saturday Night Live_, for Pete's sake! This is just not acceptable!" 

By this time, Dick had taken out the supplier and his men and was assisting Matt with Fortunato's men. Matt continued methodically working his way through the melee when he heard a cheerful, "Incoming!" 

Nightwing had - somehow - launched one of the smaller thugs through the air like a missile squarely at Matt's position. Matt quickly grabbed his opponent's wrist and ankle and flung him toward the airborne man. The two crashed into each other and dropped like stones. 

Dick yelled, "I don't suppose I could talk you into to trying out for the Knights, could I? They've needed a clean-up hitter for the _longest_ time!" 

"Sorry," replied Matt. "I'm a Mets fan, myself." 

"Oh, well," Dick responded. There were now only three men left standing. The sirens were now clearly audible. The three looked at Matt and Nightwing and each other. They then sat down on the ground with their hands on their heads. The police arrived shortly thereafter and took everyone into custody. In the confusion, Nightwing managed to slip away back to the warehouse roof. After Matt had given a statement, he joined the younger man. Dick was still grinning. 

"Well, _that_ was certainly a lot of fun! Thanks for inviting me. I always like to get practice fighting large groups of people." 

" 'I've been specializing in groups; battling gangs for local charities, that kind of thing. You use different moves when you're fighting half-a-dozen people than when you only have to be worried about one,' " Matt quoted almost subconsciously. 

"_Princess Bride_, right?" Dick said, in delight. "I wouldn't have thought you'd ... watch movies." 

Matt cleared his throat in a combination of regret and embarrassment. "It was my ... girlfriend's favorite movie. She especially liked to watch it while I was ... out each night." When Matt had asked Karen why she liked the movie so much, she told him that it reminded her to have faith in Matt and in their love. Too bad her faith had not been enough to keep her alive when Bullseye ... Matt deliberately shut off that train of thought. 

Dick, showing an unexpected perceptiveness, asked no more questions about _Princess Bride_. "I guess I'll call it a night," he said. "Why don't you come over in the morning, and we can discuss Babs' information over breakfast?" 

"That sounds fine." 

"Great! It's 666 Fifth Avenue - the penthouse. Say around 8:30?" 

"I'll be there," Matt replied. 

Dick waved goodbye and then jumped off the roof. Before Matt could become too concerned, he detected Dick's jumpline go out to a neighboring building, and the vigilante swung off into the night. Matt sat on the roof a little longer. It had been a while since he had seen Sister Maggie. Maybe it was time for a visit. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

As Matt followed a yawning Dick Grayson into the luxurious penthouse apartment the next morning, delicious smells drifted out to bombard his senses and remind him he had not eaten much dinner the previous evening. Dick led him back to a small breakfast nook where Barbara setting the table. 

"Dick, could you get the glasses down for me?" she asked before rotating around to smile a welcome at Matt. "Good morning, Matt! I hope you brought an appetite because I think Dick and I got a little carried away with our waffle-making." 

"You want coffee, juice, milk, or some combination?" asked Dick, as he got the glasses and walked over to the refrigerator. "I'm figurin' on having milk with my waffles and then finish with coffee. Babs has juice and coffee." 

"I think I'll have milk and then coffee, please." 

"No problemo." 

Breakfast was a cheerful affair, with both Dick and Matt eating lots of the buttery-rich waffles and crisp bacon (Barbara had one waffle and complained about the differences between men's and women's metabolisms). By common consent, conversation was kept light and amusing, with the three of them trying to come up with the best "stupid criminal" story. Finally, Barbara poured coffee for the two men and refreshed her own cup. Dick cleared the dishes from the table and loaded the dishwasher. 

"Let's go in the study, where it's more comfortable," Dick said, picking up his and Barbara's cups and motioning for Matt to follow them. They went down the hall to a room that was filled with bookcases. The slightly musty smell of old books filled the room. Matt noticed that in addition to a stereotypically large heavy desk, the room also had a small conference table around which were placed several parsons chairs. A laptop computer sat on one end, and there were a number of papers scattered about. Barbara rolled over to the table where the laptop was, and Dick sat at her right and motioned for Matt to take the seat on the other side of the table at her left. 

Barbara began the briefing. "Matt, as Dick told you last night, I now have lots of facts, but nothing that ties them together. My search programs can tie any two of the three victims together in lots of ways, but nothing that combines all three. Just as an example, victims 1 and 2 were part of a sex chat room, but 3 wasn't. Likewise, victims 1 and 3 were on the same _Star Trek_ mailing list, and 2 and 3 were on the same _X-Files_ list." 

"So Victim #1 liked sex and _Star Trek_, #2 liked sex and _X-Files_, and #3 liked _Star Trek_ and _X-Files_, but not sex?" commented Dick with a sour grin. 

"You got it, Short Pants. It's like that on everything I've checked! Two of them were white; one was black. One was Catholic, one was Protestant, and one was a Scientologist." She sighed. 

"Okay, let's start at the beginning," Dick said. "Give us name, date-of-birth, etc." 

"All right. Victim #1 was Christopher Joseph McIntyre. White. Born 10/25/66 in Buffalo, New York. Victim #2 was Marcus Obadiah Harrison. Black. Born 6/15/75 in Brooklyn, New York. Victim #3: Theodore David Munroe. White. Born 4/21/68 in San Diego, California." 

"California?" asked Matt in surprise. 

"Yep. At the ... Naval hospital there," Barbara confirmed, looking at her laptop. "That's the kind of thing I was telling you about - two born in New York, one in California." 

Dick sat in thought for a moment. "Hmm. Naval hospital in 1968? Was his father in Vietnam?" 

Barbara appeared startled and then typed on her keyboard. After a minute or so, she replied, "Yeah. Navy Lieutenant Theodore James Munroe is on the birth certificate." She typed further. "Okay, Theodore James Munroe served in the Navy from 1966 until he retired as a Captain in 1987." 

"What about ..." Dick and Matt said almost simultaneously. Dick laughed and motioned for Matt to proceed. 

"What about the other two? Did their fathers serve?" Matt asked, smiling as well. 

Barbara frowned and typed. She paused occasionally to stare at something on the screen and then typed some more. Matt could hear her heart rate accelerate as she found something that interested her. 

"Well, well, well!" she exclaimed. "This is very interesting. Not only did our other two victims' fathers serve in Vietnam, but they were even in the same unit - SEAL Team One, Squad C - from 1967 through 1971. Anyone want to place bets that this is sheer coincidence?" 

"SEALs?" exclaimed Dick. 

"Yep. Chief Petty Officer Collin McIntyre and Petty Officer Second Class Jeremiah Harrison. McIntyre left the Navy in 1971 and Harrison retired in 1992." 

"Just out of idle curiosity, should you be able to access that information?" Matt wondered. 

Barbara looked away from her computer to grin at him. "What information, Counselor?" 

Simultaneously, Dick said, "She could tell you, but then she'd have to kill you. That would get bloodstains all over the carpet, and Alfred would blame _me_. Don't do it, man!" 

Matt laughed along with the other two. He stopped when he realized Dick had stopped laughing and was sitting with a peculiar expression on his face. "Dick?" 

"Based on this, I think we all agree that the SEAL team is the connection between the victims, right? Which means that it really may _be_ just a coincidence that all three were cops. Babs, have any of the other team members had sons that turned up unusually dead recently?" 

Barbara looked as surprised as Matt felt. She immediately turned back to her keyboard and began typing. She muttered unintelligibly (even to Matt's ears) to herself, drank some coffee, and typed some more. After several minutes of this, she looked up from the screen. 

"You were right, Dick. Petty Officer First Class Jonathan Mackenzie's son, Christopher, was killed about six months ago in Arlington, Virginia. He was found in a hotel room, naked, and stabbed through the heart. He was an accountant." 

Matt said, "I guess the next question to ask is who's next on the list? How many potential victims are there?" 

Barbara replied, "The last two members of the squad were Ensign Charles Hammond and Chief Petty Officer Frank O'Reilly. O'Reilly died back in 1998. It'll take me a few minutes to track down any kids they might have." 

"I'll go fetch some more coffee," Dick volunteered. 

Several minutes later, as promised, Barbara had the information. "Hammond has two daughters, and O'Reilly has two sons and two daughters. Assuming our killer continues going after just the guys, that gives us two possibles." 

Matt suddenly had a thought. "Is there a chance that one of the daughters is responsible for this?" 

"I guess it's possible," Dick replied, more than a trace of doubt in his voice. "Remember, though, we're looking for an Asian-looking woman, and I would doubt these women fit that profile." 

"Right," sighed Matt. 

Dick stood up and stretched. He then turned to face Matt and said determinedly, "Looks like our next job is to talk to these SEALs and try to find out what could be coming after them more than thirty years after they left Vietnam." 

~~ End Part 3 ~~ 

Additional author's note: In this part, I mention three rather important people in Matt's life: Karen, Bullseye, and Sister Maggie. Karen Page was Matt's _long_-time on/off girlfriend (she was introduced in issue #1 back in the 60's) who was killed by the insane villain Bullseye (and Kevin Smith) fairly recently. I don't know that she watched Princess Bride, but it seemed like a movie she would like. Sister Maggie is a nun whom Matt is very close to (and we recently had it confirmed that she is his mother -- also by Kevin Smith). 


	5. Chapter 4

** ~~ Chapter 4 ~~**

Dick stepped out of the air-conditioned rental car and winced as the Texas summer heat assaulted him. The airline pilot had casually informed the passengers as they landed that it was 95 degrees with an expected high of 99, and Dick now believed him. 

Retired Commander Charles and Elizabeth Hammond lived in the Fort Worth suburb of Benbrook. Although Hammond had been considerably surprised that someone would fly all the way from New York to talk to him, he invited Dick to his house. Dick checked his watch -- he was actually a few minutes early -- and made sure he had the right address. Hammond had described his house as a "white frame house, with green trim and a large porch." Yep, this was it. 

"Are you Dick Grayson?" called out a deep voice. Squinting against the bright sunlight, Dick saw a man sitting in the shade of a huge tree on one side of the house. 

"Yes, sir! Mr. Hammond?" 

"That would be me, son. Come over here in the shade before you get sunstroke!" As Dick walked over, the man stood up. Charles Hammond was a tall, fit-looking man in his late fifties. He wore a baseball cap, a t-shirt that proclaimed, "Don't Mess With Texas", and denim shorts. 

After vigorously shaking Dick's hand, Hammond said, "I would offer to take you inside to cool off, but our air conditioner just quit on us yesterday. I'll be happy to get you some iced tea, if you like -- it'll cool you right off." 

"Thank you, that would be very nice," Dick replied, taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He had never had iced tea before, but anything with the word "iced" in it would be welcome. He sat down in the seat Hammond had indicated and finally began to notice the light breeze that was blowing. Once he was out of the sun, the temperature wasn't _quite_ so bad. 

Hammond re-appeared shortly with a carafe and a tall glass filled with ice. Putting the two down on the small table between the two chairs, he poured Dick's tea. Dick took a tentative sip and sighed as the cold, crisply sweet liquid ran down his throat. He took several more gulps and then turned to the older man. 

"Thank you, Mr. Hammond! That really hits the spot!" 

"I thought it might, son. So what exactly is it that brings you out to this neck of the woods?" 

Dick looked down at his glass for a few moments to gather his thoughts and then turned his chair to face Hammond more directly. 

"A good friend of mine is being charged -- falsely, in my opinion -- with the murder of a New York cop named David Munroe. He was the son of a retired Navy Captain Theodore James Munroe." Dick stopped as he saw a look of recognition flash across Hammond's face. "Yes, _that_ Captain Munroe. While researching the case, we found that three other members of your team have also had their sons murdered in the last eighteen months." 

"Who?" Hammond whispered. 

"Collin McIntyre, Jeremiah Harrison, and Jonathan Mackenzie." Dick gave the other man a grim little smile. "I don't want to question them unless I have to, and since Frank O'Reilly is dead ..." 

"That left me." 

"Yes, sir. You have two daughters, I understand?" Dick asked in a lighter tone. 

Hammond beamed. "Yes, I do," he said, while pulling his billfold from his back pocket. He opened it to a family shot that showed Hammond, a small, delicate-looking woman in her early fifties, and two young women. "Kerry is my oldest," he said, pointing to an attractive woman a little older than Dick, with short, medium-brown hair. "And Amy is the youngest." Amy had shoulder-length light-brown hair and dimples. "Kerry's a doctor over in Dallas, and Amy's a senior at A&M. Majoring in nuclear physics, of all things." Hammond shook his head in proud wonder. Suddenly, he appeared to remember why Dick was there, and a slightly dangerous look appeared in his eyes. "They're not in any danger are they?" 

"Well, so far at least, the killer has only been targeting the men, so we believe O'Reilly's two sons are next in line. But if she succeeds in killing them off, I really don't know whether she'll go after the daughters next or not." 

"You say, 'she.' You know the killer's a woman?" 

"All of the men were killed immediately after having sex, and the best description anyone's come up with was that the victims were last seen with an Asian or Asian-American woman. I know it's a long shot, but I wanted to see if you had any idea who might be out to kill your teammates' children." 

Before Hammond could answer, a black Ford pickup pulled into the driveway alongside Dick's rental car. The delicate-looking woman from the photo hopped down from the driver's side and walked around to the other side of the truck. She wore a lightweight denim jumper with a short-sleeved yellow top. 

"Hi, hon!" she called out. 

Hammond stood and motioned for Dick to follow him as he walked toward the truck. He took one of the sacks his wife handed him and kissed her gently on the cheek. 

"Honey, this is Dick Grayson. Dick, this is my wife, Beth." Splitting the three sacks between him and his wife, Hammond led them inside the house. 

"Since the air conditioner conked out, I didn't want to make the house any warmer by using my stove, so I went out and picked us up some lunch," Beth explained somewhat apologetically as they unloaded the contents of the sacks -- slices of barbeque, sauce, potato salad, and beans -- onto the large round dining room table. A ceiling fan kept the air moving, and although it was a little warmer than outside, Dick had begun to get acclimated. Dick tried to apologize for barging in on their meal, but Beth wouldn't hear of it. 

"Goodness, it isn't any trouble at all! In fact, it's just as well you're here, 'cause I probably would've ordered my usual amount anyway, forgettin' the girls wouldn't be around to help us eat it all. Now you just hush and go wash up -- the lavatory's right down the hall on your left." She made shooing motions until Dick laughingly gave in. 

When Dick came back, the three sat down, and Beth said grace. Dick did not think Alfred would regard the murders as proper mealtime conversation, so he asked some questions about their daughters. Charles and Beth were proud parents, and this was a favorite subject. They, in turn, questioned him about his family, and he gave them a fairly expurgated version. 

Just as Dick was convinced he could not eat another bite, Beth went into the kitchen and returned carrying a tub of ice cream and three bowls. She dished out servings for each of them, and the three went back outside to sit under the tree. While they ate, Dick and Charles took turns bringing Beth up to speed on Dick's errand. 

"I've been thinkin' about who all would want to come after us," Charles sighed, "but, to be honest, I can't really think of anyone who would hate us that much who could still be alive. We had a general policy that dead enemies were much safer than live ones." 

"Charlie, what about your scrap book?" Beth asked. 

"My what? Oh, you mean that photo album you helped me put together?" 

"Right! Maybe you might see something that would jog your memory. I'll go grab it!" 

While Beth jogged back to the house, Charles turned to Dick and grimaced. "Y'know, I put that album together shortly after I got home from 'Nam. Mostly at Beth's insistence, but also to try to put all that stuff behind me." 

Dick nodded in understanding. He had several photo albums from various incarnations of the Titans that, although he didn't think of them that way at the time, acted as a kind of catharsis. 

Beth came hurrying back toward them, carrying a dark blue notebook with gold lettering on the front, which she plopped down in Charles's lap. Dick scooted his chair closer to Charles so he could see and pulled out a small voice recorder. Beth stood behind her husband and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Charles sighed, patted her hand, and opened the album. The first few pages made him and Beth laugh as they looked at a much younger Charles going through basic training and then SEAL training. Beth sniffled a bit at a picture showing Charles boarding a transport plane. The date written beside the photo read, "19 September 1966." 

"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," she whispered. "You acted so cocky and so confident, but deep down I knew the reason you didn't ask me to marry you before you left -- you weren't sure you'd be back." 

"I didn't want to tie you down, baby," he replied quietly. "Especially after you saw your best friend left as a widow with a young son to support. I wasn't gonna do that to you." 

"I know, hon. I know." Beth kissed his cheek. 

Charles turned the page. The next pictures showed scenes aboard ship and of the staging areas for the soldiers. Charles said little beyond pointing out various people in the photos. Then he paused at a picture that showed six smiling young men against a jungle backdrop. His finger traced over each man's face. 

"This was my team," he said. 

Dick looked at the photo which was dated 22 November 1966. _Didn't Babs say the men were together from 1967 through 1971?_ He read the list of names next to the photo. One name jumped out at him. 

"Who's Norman Sienkiewicz?" he asked. 

Startled out of his reverie, Hammond looked at Dick. "What? Oh, Sienkiewicz. He was killed in, ah, '67. Training accident. He was a decent guy, but he should never have gotten a Budweiser." 

"Budweiser?" asked Dick. 

Charles laughed and closed the album so Dick could see the insignia that was sewn on the blue cloth. Now Dick noticed the similarity to Anheuser-Busch's familiar logo. 

"Budweiser." Charles opened the album again. "Norm was in over his head almost from the moment we got there, but he just wouldn't admit it. Darn shame, though. He left a wife and a baby girl behind." 

"So that's when Harrison joined your team?" 

"Yep." Hammond turned a couple of pages to show another group shot. This time, the team was in a village of some sort, and one of the men -- Hammond, himself, Dick realized -- was holding a small girl in his arms. The photo was captioned "Tan Dien, 27 January 1969". 

"Looks like you've got yourself a girlfriend," said Dick, with a smile. 

Hammond smiled. "That's Rosie. She would follow us around the village as fast as her little legs would go. One of the guys -- O'Reilly, I think it was -- had a daughter about the same age, so he really got a kick out of playing with her." His smile dimmed. "Rosie's mother had died a few months before we showed up, and apparently she told her daughter that her father was an American. Rosie thus decided we were all her 'daddies.' Looking back on it now, we shouldn't have gotten so involved with her - it would only end up hurting her. But when you're twenty-one, you think you know everything." Charles directed a sardonic grin in Dick's direction. 

"So what happened to her?" Dick asked. 

"I ... don't know," Charles sighed. "We weren't really based in Tan Dien, although we did spend a lot of time there. In late '69 the battle lines shifted, and we started to see more 'Cong activity on our patrols. L.T. -- Lt. Munroe -- worried that if we kept going through Tan Dien, either the village would be in danger from us, or we might be in danger from infiltrators in the village. About that time, we were recalled back to Saigon, anyway." He lightly traced a finger around another picture of the little girl. "Collin McIntyre went back to Vietnam a few years ago with some other vets. He tried to find Tan Dien, but it had been wiped out. Nobody knew if there were any survivors or where they might be." 

Charles flipped through the rest of the album, but nothing further caught his attention. When he would have handed it back to Beth, Dick interrupted. 

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take pictures of some of those photos." He pulled out a small digital camera. Charles handed him the album, and Dick turned to the first group picture. He took shots of the two group pictures and several others and handed the album to Beth. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help to y'all," apologized Charles. "I really don't like the idea of some killer lyin' in wait for O'Reilly's two boys." 

Dick handed him a card with both Dick's and Matt's phone numbers on it. "If you do think of anything that might help, please give me or Matt Murdock a call. I'm assuming that you'll be talking to your teammates about this ..." he said as he looked at Charles. When Charles nodded, he continued, "I'd just ask that you remember that my friend is accused of murdering your lieutenant's son, and we don't want any of this information finding its way either to the press or the District Attorney's office." 

Beth looked confused, but Charles nodded. When she looked at him for explanation, he said, "Because it doesn't really help their case yet, honey." 

"But there's obviously a connection between all these murders!" she protested. "Wouldn't that get Dick's friend off the hook?" 

Dick and Charles shook their heads almost in unison. Dick replied, "None of this gives us an alternate suspect for the murders -- that's what we need. Right now, this is all just a theory; there's no evidence that points to someone other than my friend." 

Noticing the time, Dick took his leave from the Hammonds, thanking them once again for the information and the meal and promising to keep them informed on the case's progress. He drove back to the airport, turned in his rental car, and settled down for the hour-long wait for his flight. He called Barbara on his cell phone. 

"Hey, Babs!" 

"Hi! How'd it go?" 

"Aside from nearly being fed to death, I found out a few things. It turns out there was another member of the team who died in 1967." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. See what you can find out about Norman Sienkiewicz," he said, spelling out the name for her. 

"Anything else?" 

"How are you at tracking ghosts?" he asked jokingly. 

"Depends on how chatty the Spectre is feeling," she responded. 

"Urk. No, actually, I'm mostly kidding. There's a little girl from one of the villages that I'd love to track down, but all I've got is the name 'Rosie' and a no-longer-existing village called Tan Dien." 

"I might have more luck getting the Spectre to talk," she agreed. "So what did they feed you?" 

Dick groaned. "Tons and _tons_ of absolutely delicious barbeque beef, potato salad, beans, and some _wonderful_ vanilla ice cream for dessert. It may be days before I'm hungry again." 

"Poor baby. Okay, I've got some info on your Norman Sienkiewicz. Died on 12/10/67 on a training mission." 

"What about children?" 

"I'm pulling that up now. Oh my! This could be interesting." 

"What?" 

"Norman's wife was born on Okinawa -- she was a Japanese citizen before their marriage. Their daughter, Kimberly Lynn, was born on 7/18/67." 

"So Kimberly Sienkiewicz is half-Japanese." 

"Yep." 

"And she might hold a grudge against her father's teammates." 

"She might just decide to deprive them of their children as she was deprived of her father," said Barbara. 

~~ End Chapter 4 ~~ 


	6. Chapter 5

** ~~ Chapter 5 ~~**

Matt waited as Bridget was allowed into the small conference room. 

"Good mornin' to you, Mr. Murdock," she said as she walked over to the table. 

"Good morning, Ms. Clancy. Are you getting along all right?" Matt made a swift scan of her as she sat down. Her heart rate and breathing seemed normal; the institutional smell of the prison soap almost overwhelmed anything else, but he found no traces of adrenaline-induced sweat. 

"It's been easier since Dick brought me some of my textbooks," she replied. "I planned to do some studying and reviewing this summer anyway, and I've certainly had the time for it, that's for sure. This place makes even _biochemistry_ look interesting!" She laughed in genuine amusement. 

Matt smiled along with her. "I'm glad to hear that. I came by to check on you and to bring you up to date on what we've found out." He leaned on his elbows and laced his fingers together. "I believe Dick told you about the two other police killings?" 

"Uh huh. He also explained that just as the D.A didn't want t' complicate their case by bringing the additional murders in, you can't really use them to prove I wasn't th' murderer." 

"Right. _But_ since we know you aren't the killer, we can use the other murders to figure out who is. Has Dick told you about the other homicide?" 

"No! There's another one?" 

"Yeah. Dick, Barbara, and I were able to piece together that the common thread in the three murders we knew about was not that they were police officers -- it was that their fathers served together in Vietnam. That led us to check on the other members of that unit -- Navy SEALs, in case you wondered -- and sure enough, there was another murder victim. Not my favorite way to prove a hypothesis, but still ..." He smiled grimly. 

Matt continued. "Dick just got back from Texas, where he talked to the one surviving member of the unit who hasn't lost a son. Out of that, we've got a possible suspect: the half-Japanese daughter of a unit mate who died. Barbara is now trying to track her down, as well as the two remaining potential victims." 

"Wow. It's been weird enough to find myself embroiled in a cop-killing spree, but to find out it's really some kind of Vietnam revenge plot is rather mind-boggling." 

"It's certainly not what I had envisioned either," he agreed. He paused and then said briskly, "All right, I also wanted to let you know I'll be meeting with the D.A.'s office this afternoon. It's mainly to get permission for Dick and me to investigate the murder scene, but I'm sure we'll spend a little bit of time talking about the case. At this point I plan to refuse to consider any offer they might make unless you direct me otherwise. Okay?" 

She nodded. He waited. 

"Oh! Sorry again, Mr. Murdock! Yes, I want you to refuse any offers. Oh, and that reminds me ..." Her voice trailed off, and Matt detected her biting her lip. 

"Yes?" 

"When we go to trial, there's probably going to be an even bigger media circus than there was at my bail hearing, right?" There had been cameras and reporters everywhere when Bridget had been charged with Munroe's murder. 

"Assuming we do go to trial, I'm afraid you're right." 

"I wanted to tell him when he came by last, but I couldn't get th' words out properly. I want you to make sure Dick doesn't attend the trial," she said in an emphatic tone. 

Before he could ask why, she continued, "It's not that I don't want him there; he's been a wonderful friend. But he doesn't need that kind of publicity -- not after what happened with Bruce Wayne." 

"I'll tell him," Matt said diffidently, "but I'm not sure he'll listen to me." 

She sighed. "It's funny," she said. "When I knew him in Bludhaven, I just thought of him as my cute tenant who actually paid his rent on time. We had fun together, and he was the one to encourage me to pursue my dream of medicine. He even told me about the Wayne Foundation scholarship, and I still didn't suspect a thing. It wasn't until after I moved to Gotham City and saw a newspaper article that mentioned that Bruce Wayne had officially adopted his former ward, _Richard Grayson_, that I made the connection." 

"It was a surprise?" 

"Complete and utter surprise." She laughed. "I'd even met Bruce -- he came by once to visit Dick, who introduced him to me as his friend, 'Bruce.' " 

"Does Dick know you know?" 

She thought for a moment. "I don't know. When I figured out who he was, I almost called him up to yell at him for not tellin' me, but then I got to thinkin'. It seemed pretty obvious to me that Dick came to Bludhaven to be on his own. He probably worried that if I knew about his background, I might treat him differently. This way, I and his other friends got to know him for himself." 

"Well, I'll try to explain your reasons to Dick, but I can't guarantee anything." 

"I know -- he can be pretty stubborn about supporting his friends." She smiled. 

Matt reached inside his jacket and brought out a small tape recorder. "I do have one more item to cover with you. The witness who placed you at the bar with Munroe the night of the murder is back in town finally, and I want him to hear what you sound like." Jerry the bartender had stayed with his daughter an extra week because she had experienced some complications following the delivery. Skip informed Matt that Jerry would finally be back at work today. 

He turned the tape recorder on. "Let's start with the basics. Why don't you tell me your name, where you were born, that kind of thing." 

She nodded and said, "Okay. My name is Bridget Siobhan Clancy. I was born in Hong Kong, but my birth mum abandoned me, and I was placed in an orphanage." She smiled, and Matt could also hear the smile in her voice. "An Irish missionary couple wanted to adopt a Chinese baby girl, and they picked me. We stayed in Hong Kong until I was around two, and then we moved to Bhutan. Daddy's a doctor, so he worked in a clinic there, while Mum tried to get to know the other women who lived near us." Her voice grew grimmer. "The thing is, Bhutan's official religion is Tibetan Buddhism -- Christianity is against the law. When I was around four, officials found out my parents were missionaries. They took my father into custody and ... tortured him." Her voice broke slightly, but she forced herself to continue. "They couldn't get my mum or me because she managed to get us to the American embassy -- Mum was an American citizen. Eventually, they were able to get Daddy released, and we went home to Ireland. He recovered, but he was never really strong enough to go back to the mission field. So we stayed in Ireland." She shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock! I didn't mean to go off like that. I guess being in prison bothers me more than I thought." 

"That's all right, Bridget," he replied gently as he turned off the recorder. "It sounds as if you needed to get that out of your system. Are you sure you don't want me to contact your parents?" 

She bent her head. "Not yet, please," she said quietly. "I'm not looking forward to trying to explain to them that I was involved in an affair with a married man. Let alone that I'm in jail, charged with his murder." 

"You didn't know he was married," Matt said, trying to comfort her. 

"If I hadn't been having sex with him, I probably wouldn't be in this situation," she stated. "My parents won't say anything to me, but I know that's what they'll be thinkin'. To be honest, it's what I've been thinkin' as well." She shook her head slightly. "I know better -- they raised me better than this. Until this happened, I hadn't realized just how far I've drifted away from what they taught me." 

Matt thought for a moment and said tentatively, "Then maybe your being in here isn't a complete loss?" 

She smiled slightly. "I've been thinkin' about that as well." 

"Well, that's all I need for today. Did you have any questions?" 

"Actually, I do. It's a small thing, but it's been botherin' me," she said hesitantly. 

"What is it?" 

"I know she doesn't fit the profile of the killer you're looking for, but why am I a more logical suspect for the police than David's wife? Don't they usually suspect relatives in this sort of thing?" 

Matt gave her a sardonic grin. "She was their first choice. Unfortunately, she had a much better alibi than you. It was about as airtight as you can get." 

"What was it?" 

"Apparently, after she left you and Munroe, she went on a bender -- she was picked up for public intoxication and disturbing the peace about two hours before he was killed. At the time of his death, she was in the drunk tank." 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Matt walked into McMurphy's, his white cane in hand. As usual, an intense assortment of smells assaulted him. Fortunately, the lunch-hour rush was over, so he was able to make out the form of Jerry behind the bar. As he walked further into the room, Jerry looked over and saw him. 

"Hey, Mr. Murdock! How've you been?" 

"Ah, Jerry! I've been fine. How're your daughter and grandson?" He walked over to the bar, sat down on a barstool, and put away the cane. "Coffee, please." 

"They're gonna be okay," Jerry replied as he poured coffee into a large mug and added cream and sugar. "I gotta tell ya, I was scared when the doc started talkin' about 'internal bleeding' and stuff like that. But Violet's gonna be okay. The docs let her and the baby go home a couple of days ago, and she was well enough to fuss at me for hovering, so she's definitely on the mend. Do you wanna see some baby ... Aw man, sorry about that, Mr. Murdock!" 

Matt gave Jerry a resigned little smile. "It's okay, Jer." He took a sip of the strong coffee. "Did Skip mention that I was asking about you?" 

"Um, yeah," Jerry replied, still embarrassed about his faux pas. "He said you and some other guy came by lookin' for me last week." 

Matt nodded. "That's right. I wanted to ask you a few questions that'll help me with one of my clients." 

"Sure thing! Ask away." 

"This is about the Munroe murder. My client is the woman you identified to the police as having been here the evening he was killed." 

"I know what I saw, Mr. Murdock," Jerry said defensively. "She's the one I saw in here." 

"But what did you hear?" asked Matt. "Did you speak to her? Hear her voice?" 

Jerry thought for moment. "Sure, I guess so. Yeah, she gave me her drink order -- martini, I think it was. Then I heard her and the guy talking." 

"And nothing about her voice struck you as unusual?" 

"No. Should it have?" 

Matt pulled out the little tape recorder. "I recorded this earlier this morning. I promise you, this is how my client normally sounds." He played the tape, although he cut it off before Bridget's account of her father's imprisonment. Jerry's mouth hung open. 

"_That's_ what your client sounds like?" he exclaimed. 

"Yes. You can see why I wanted to talk to you. The combination of her looks and her voice should have been striking enough for you to mention, if you'd really heard Ms. Clancy." 

"Well, I can definitely swear that the woman who was in here sounded nothin' like that!" 

"And you'll tell the police?" 

"You bet!" 

"Great! Thanks for your help, Jerry. I really appreciate it." Matt paid for his coffee and left. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Where do you get off, interfering with witnesses like that?" yelled Sharon Carpenter, the Assistant D.A. who was prosecuting Bridget. Matt had just informed her that she shouldn't count on Jerry Flanagan as a witness. She was not happy. 

"My client wasn't there, Sharon," Matt replied calmly. "Your witness got the ID wrong. Wouldn't you rather find out now instead of while we're in front of a jury? Seems to me, I did you a favor." 

Sharon made a low growling sound. Matt smiled innocently. 

"Look," he said, in his most reasonable tone, "all of your evidence is circumstantial at best. You just lost your main eyewitness against my client. Why don't you just drop the charges so the police can keep looking for the _real_ killer." 

"Oh, sure! And I'll go take a summer vacation on the moon, while I'm at it!" 

"I hear it's lovely this time of year." 

Sharon growled again. 

"Oh, by the way, I need your authorization for my investigator and me to visit the crime scene." 

"Sure, fine, whatever. Here. Just leave." She scrawled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Matt. 

"Thanks, Sharon. I always enjoy our little talks. We should do this more often." Matt smiled as he left. 

After Matt got back to the office, he made a call. "Dick, it's Matt. Jerry's retracting his ID of Bridget." 

"That's great!" 

"Yep. I still couldn't get a dismissal, but A.D.A. Carpenter is not a happy camper at the moment. I was also able to get authorization for you and me to take a look at the crime scene." 

"Cool! I've got the late afternoon shift today, but I can come by tomorrow morning. Will that work?" 

"That'll be fine." 

"I'll be there around 11:00." 

"See you then." 

Matt hung up the phone. He couldn't say why, but he had a feeling that things were about to start happening. Soon. 

~~ End Chapter 5 ~ 


	7. Chapter 6

** ~~ Chapter 6 ~~**

Just as Dick inserted the key into David Munroe's front door, he heard the ding of the elevator. Instinctively, he started looking for hiding places until he reminded himself that he had _permission_ to be here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Matt had started as well. He laughed. 

"Feels weird being here in broad daylight, doesn't it?" 

Matt laughed as well, running a hand through his thick red hair in embarrassment. "Sure does. I do most of my crime scene investigations in the red long johns, so this is a little unusual for me." 

"I know what you mean. One of my first days as a cop, I nearly had a heart attack when my sergeant walked in on me when I was doing some file work." His grin became a smirk. "While I'm thinking about it, since you're here as Matt Murdock, Ace Lawyer, does that mean you're billing me for this?" 

Matt stood dumbfounded. 

"You know, 'billing'? Filthy lucre? Money? The love of which is the root of all evil?" 

Matt shook himself and replied, "Sorry. It's just rather rare for me to be working a murder investigation -- especially in the long johns -- and actually get paid for it. Foggy was practically turning cartwheels when I told him I was taking a murder case that _wasn't_ pro bono." He thought for a moment. "I guess, since I'm here in the suit, I should bill you." 

"Works for me," Dick replied. 

The two men entered the apartment and began exploring. It consisted of a small kitchen/breakfast area, a modest-sized living room, a utilitarian-looking bathroom, and a bedroom that was just barely big enough for the king-size bed that it contained. 

"I see what Clancy meant about the dust -- sheesh! Even _I_ keep a cleaner place than this," exclaimed Dick, as he poked around in the kitchen. They eventually ended up the in the bedroom. Dick stared at the large red-brown stain in the center of the mattress. Suddenly, he noticed something a bit odd. 

"Hey, Matt! Take a look here," he said, pointing to a spot near the center of the bloodstain. "Is that a cut in the mattress?" 

"I think it is. Didn't the autopsy say something about the knife wound going all the way through the body?" 

"Yeah, I believe so." Dick took a pencil from his jacket pocket and carefully inserted it into the gash. 

"Won't the pencil go all the way through the padding, since the top's been cut?" 

"Well, I'm hoping that the blood would be more likely to pool at the bottom of the cut, since it would no longer have a direct outlet. And I think I've got it!" Dick used his fingernail to mark the position on the pencil and then handed it to Matt. 

"See what you think -- about three inches down." 

Matt raised an eyebrow but did as Dick requested. At the three-inch mark, he paused, a frown of concentration on his face. Then, he withdrew the pencil and handed it back to Dick with a nod. 

"You're right. There's definitely a different feel to the mattress. So the knife stroke was what, about fifteen inches?" 

"That's not a knife; that's practically a sword!" Dick exclaimed. "What kind of guy lets a woman into his apartment carrying a sword?!" 

"Also, the blow carried a lot of force -- remember the autopsy noted that one of Munroe's back ribs was cracked when the blade hit it. How can they think a young woman of Bridget's size could do that? Not to mention, the autopsy indicated Munroe didn't struggle after he was stabbed, even though his death wasn't immediate. Why didn't he try to stop her?" 

"Actually, Clancy's a bit stronger the she looks, but I take your point." Dick grinned sardonically. "Now as far as your other question, I could believe it, given that Munroe had sex right before he died. Say, he's lying there, still pretty wiped out. His eyes are closed. Unlike some of us in this room, he wouldn't notice that the woman on top of him suddenly produced a long knife/short sword. He doesn't notice anything until she strikes." 

Matt smiled as well at Dick's scenario. "I guess I could go for that; although I still think there should have been more signs of a struggle _after_ he was stabbed." 

"Yeah, that bugs me too. The tox screen was clean, right?" 

"Right. No drugs, except some alcohol, but he wasn't even legally drunk." 

"Weird." 

"Yeah," Matt said, and then his voice trailed off. Dick could see his nostrils flaring slightly. 

"You got something?" 

"Maybe," Matt said absently. "Odd smell. ... Perfume? ... Astringent -- no, that's him. Musky." He continued to wander around the bed, his forehead wrinkled as he concentrated. He paid special attention to the pillows. Shaking his head, he then went into the bathroom. Dick followed him and saw him sniffing the hand towel that still hung on its hook. 

"Got it!" Matt exclaimed. 

"What?!" 

"Whoever the killer was, she ended up washing her hands in the bathroom. Obviously, she wiped off her fingerprints, but her scent is still on this towel. It's definitely not Munroe, and it's also not Bridget." 

"How do you know it's not Clancy?" 

"Bridget's scent is on the pillows, and it's different from this one. It's certainly an odd one. Kind of a sandalwood musk, but there's something else mixed in that I can't place." Matt frowned a little in frustration. "I'm pretty familiar with most of the perfumes out there, but this one's different. Very strange." 

"So, if we find the girl who matches that scent, we've got our killer?" Dick asked. 

"Yeah. Just one small problem." 

Dick sighed. "How to find one scent out of millions of others, I know. Still, it's more information than we had before we got here." 

"Right. Has Barbara found anything on our mysterious Kimberly." 

Dick rolled his eyes and sighed again. "_That_ is currently a sore subject around Babs. I've stopped asking about her progress since I'm generally quite fond of keeping my head attached to my shoulders." 

Matt grinned back. "Last I heard she had traced Kimberly's whereabouts until two years ago?" 

"Yeah. Apparently it was a pretty clear trail: She received survivor's benefits until she was 21, and then got a passport and spent a couple of years in Okinawa. After she returned to the states, she worked at some advertising firms until two years ago when she dropped off the face of the earth, according to Babs. No bank accounts, nothing reported to Social Security, no driver's license, nada. It's driving Babs crazy." 

As if summoned, an ear-splitting yell exploded from the mini-receiver that Dick wore behind his ear: "**WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!!**" 

Dick grimaced in pain, and he could see that even Matt was wincing from the volume of Barbara's yell. He activated the microphone in his collar. 

"Uh, Babs? Are you okay?" 

"I'm not just okay, I'm the _best_! Better than the best! WOOO --" 

Dick cut off the audio feed before he lost his hearing permanently. After waiting a few seconds, he cut it back on. "Sweetheart, have you been ODing on the Zesti-Colas again?" he asked gently. 

Babs snickered. "Sorry, Hunk Wonder. Just thought you'd like to know that I found Ms. Kimberly Sienkiewicz!" 

_Hunk Wonder?_ Matt mouthed at him, incredulous. 

Dick shrugged and said, "That's great, Babs! Where is she, and how did you find her?" 

"She's in Weston, Connecticut, and never you mind how I found her." 

"You called them, didn't you?" he asked with a huge smile on his face. 

"My methods are my own, Mr. Grayson." 

"You did call! I suggested you call her high school classmates for information, and you did! How many'd you have to try?" 

She growled, "Forty-five. Okay, I called. I was desperate." 

"Glad I could be of assistance," he smirked. Feedback blasted his ear as Barbara ostentatiously cut the connection. 

Dick and Matt exchanged amused grins. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

It wasn't until the next morning, as Dick was riding his motorcycle up I-95 towards Connecticut, that Barbara relented and gave him the rest of the information she had gathered on Kimberly Sienkiewicz. 

"It turns out that the reason I couldn't trace Kimberly was because she's been living with financier Carson Dunlop under the name Kimberly Nogura. She's a signatory on his household account and on several of Dunlop's credit cards, which probably explains why she hasn't had a job in two years." 

"Oh, I'd say she had a job, all right," Dick quipped. 

Barbara cleared her throat. "Dunlop's probably rather gun-shy about marriage. According to my records, he's paying pretty hefty alimony and child support to two ex-wives and three children." 

"On time?" 

"Automatic deposit, the first of each month." 

"Good for him." 

When Dick was about ten miles from Weston, Barbara contacted him again. 

"The computer finally found a pattern on the murder dates!" she exclaimed. "And it's _weird_." 

"A woman who goes around picking up guys and then killing them is not exactly normal, my dearest darling," he said, laughing. 

"This is weird, even for that. Look, we figured there had to be some sort of pattern in the timing of the murders, right?" 

"I'm not sure I said there 'had to be' a pattern, just that I thought that, having waited this long to begin killing these men, it was likely there would be some underlying pattern to the dates of the murders." 

"Whatever," Barbara sighed. "Anyway, I finally took all the dates in this case I could find and tossed them at one of my search programs. Turns out that of the four murders, _three_ took place on the victim's mother's birthday." 

"What?!" 

"And the remaining murder was committed the day _after_ the mother's birthday. Anyone want to believe this is sheer coincidence?" 

"Yeah, right," Dick snorted. "I suppose you've looked up Mrs. O'Reilly's birthday?" 

"We're in luck. Mrs. O'Reilly will be turning 57 next week." 

"Wow! So even if Kimberly falls through as a suspect, we have a definite time frame to shadow the O'Reillys." 

"Actually, I think we can limit ourselves to just one O'Reilly. According to the operatives I've got on them now, John O'Reilly is a very happily married man with two young kids. His older brother Jim, on the other hand, just went through a nasty split-up with his girlfriend and is hitting the club scene with a vengeance." 

"John's in Rhode Island, and Jim's in New York, right?" Dick asked. For some reason, he had a hard time keeping the two men straight. 

"Yep." 

Dick turned onto Hidden Meadow Road and whistled. 

"What's that, Dick?" 

"These are some _nice_ houses! Not as fancy as the Manor, of course," he said, hastily, feeling sure Alfred would know if he failed to show the proper respect. "You said it was at the end of the street?" 

"Yeah. These are large lots, so you should be able to set up some decent surveillance." 

"We'll see. There're a lot of trees, which will give me some cover, but they could also get in the way." 

"Whine, whine, whine," snickered Barbara. 

Dick nobly ignored her. While they were talking, he found the perfect piece of camouflage for him and his bike -- the house next to Dunlop's was for sale. He pulled into the long driveway, parked his bike under the large awning next to the garage, and got off. He casually removed his helmet and wandered around the front of the house, for all the world acting as if he'd ridden here just to view this house. 

His wanderings took him around the side and into the backyard, where he noted absently there was a nice pool and spa. After assuring himself that no one still lived in the house, he slipped into the wooded area that bordered the landscaped yard. In a matter of minutes, he positioned himself in a large tree that offered excellent views of the back of Dunlop's mansion. He pulled out his mini-binoculars. 

"Y'know, Babs, the more I think about your date theory, the less I like Kimberly as a suspect," he said quietly. 

"I know what you mean," she sighed. "If she's doing this for revenge against the fathers, why pick the mothers' birthdays?" 

Suddenly, Dick nearly fell out of his tree. Righting himself, he refocused on the scene in front of him that had almost caused him to lose his balance. 

"I'm afraid we're back to no suspects, Babs. There is no way Kimberly could be Munroe's killer." 

"What?!" 

~~ End Chapter 6 ~~ 


	8. Chapter 7

** ~~ Chapter 7 ~~**

"Pregnant?!" exclaimed Matt, as Dick sat in his office, telling him why Kimberly Sienkiewicz was no longer a suspect. 

"Yep. _Very_ pregnant," said Dick, with a grin. "I had a good view of the back of Dunlop's house, and I had just settled in for some preliminary surveillance - you know, casing the joint -- when a woman walked out of the house onto the deck. It was Kimberly, wearing a robe of some sort. Then she took off the robe." Dick's grin became a little sheepish, and he rubbed his forehead. "I realized two things immediately: she was pregnant, and she wasn't wearing any clothes under the robe." 

"Oh my! Pregnant woman sunbathing in the nude." Matt tried to keep a straight face, but Dick's sense of humor got the better of his embarrassment, and soon the two men were laughing uproariously. 

Eventually, they calmed down enough for Matt to ask, "So there's no way she could be our suspect?" 

Dick snorted. "C'mon, Matt! She looked like she swallowed a beach ball! I think Jerry the bartender would have noticed that little fact -- especially since his own daughter was pregnant." 

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Matt sighed. "I guess we're back to square one." 

"Not necessarily," Dick said. He relayed Barbara's new information about the timing of the murders. "We know Mrs. O'Reilly's birthday is next Tuesday, and Babs thinks the older son is the more likely target. All we need to do is keep an eye on him and catch her before she gets him." 

"So when are we going to tell him?" 

"Tell whom?" 

"Jim O'Reilly. When are we going to tell him he's a target?" 

Dick sighed. "Matt, you know we can't do that." 

"What do you mean? Of _course_ we have to tell him! Maybe he doesn't want to be staked out as bait!" 

"He's not bait. You were right the first time -- he's a target, and our telling him he is won't change that fact," Dick said flatly. "Look, if we tell him, he's going to do one of two things -- cooperate with us or hide. Hiding's not going to do him any good; we already know the killer doesn't mind waiting a day to attack. How long do you think she'll wait? But let's say he cooperates with us. Even assuming he can behave naturally enough, how does his knowing affect our plans?" 

"It's still not right! We can't just play God like this!" 

"I know that!" retorted Dick, sharply. He stood and paced around the office, running his hands through his hair. "I don't like it any better than you, but what it all boils down to is that in order to protect O'Reilly, he can't know he needs protecting. Every way I've looked at this scenario, his knowing doesn't help and usually hurts his chances." 

Although Matt was angry with Dick, he couldn't help but contrast Dick's willingness to explain with Batman's insistence on unquestioning obedience. "All right, you've made your point," he said, reluctantly. 

"Besides," Dick replied with a grim little smile as he sat down again, "You don't know where he lives; only Babs and I do." 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Several days later, Matt discovered another difference between Dick and Batman -- Dick was a lot more interesting to have along on a stakeout. They were lucky in that there was a small park/playground across from O'Reilly's apartment building, so they set up a chessboard and played while they waited for Mrs. O'Reilly's birthday party to end. Dick said it was a sunny day, so Matt left his cane in the car, figuring his dark glasses would pass for sunglasses. 

"Now, I hope you aren't going to tell me that you're billing me while we wait!" exclaimed Dick, sarcastically. 

Matt laughed. "Maybe I ought to -- Foggy's mother always believed we should charge as much as the client could afford. Plus ten percent." When Dick faked a lunge across the chessboard, Matt held up his hand in mock surrender. "All right, all right. Admittedly, I _did_ say I would charge you if I was wearing a suit, and I'm certainly not wearing that right now," he laughed, gesturing to the worn t-shirt and jeans he had on. 

As they played, Matt realized that Dick was an excellent chess player. Matt considered himself better-than-average, and it wasn't often that he was seriously challenged. After several games, a definite pattern emerged: With his well-trained memory, Matt was probably the better technical player, but Dick was an absolute master of elegantly choreographed traps. After five games (Matt won two), they called a halt and pulled out the sandwiches they brought for a late lunch. 

"So how did you learn to play chess like that? Did Ba ... Bruce teach you?" 

Dick smiled. "He taught me the basics, but I probably learned most of my strategy from Alfred." 

"Alfred?" 

"Officially, I guess you'd call him Bruce's butler; although the better term would be Bruce's _keeper_." Dick laughed. "He's been in charge of Wayne Manor since before Bruce was born, I think. I've known him since I was nine. He handled a lot of the raising of me." 

"If I may, how exactly did you get into all this ..." Matt made waving motions with his hands. 

Dick stopped smiling and he drew a deep breath. "My parents and I were circus aerialists. When the circus owner refused to pay protection money, the mob boss arranged for our ropes to be sabotaged. My mom and dad fell to their deaths in front of me. Fortunately for me, Bruce was in the audience and understood the kinds of things I was feeling. He took me in, and the rest, as they say, is history." He smiled briefly, and his left eyebrow quirked. "So what about you? How'd you come to be hanging out on rooftops?" 

Matt smiled in return and explained how the childhood accident that blinded him had changed his life in more ways than that. 

"It wasn't an immediate change," he continued. "But as the months and years went by, my senses became more and more acute. My 'radar sense' for example -- it started out as an amorphous tingling, but over time became more and more detailed. I never really planned on the whole vigilante gig, though. I was going to be a lawyer; just as my dad had promised my mom before she died." Matt decided not to explain that his mother wasn't really dead but had become a nun; the story was complicated enough as it was. 

"Even though I had a scholarship, college and then law school were expensive. My dad was a professional boxer, and he fought to make enough money to keep me in school. Just before I graduated from law school, he was scheduled to fight in an unprecedented title match -- no one could believe that this middle-aged guy could beat the guys he was beating. Unfortunately, they were right. My dad's fights were fixed, and now the Fixer wanted my dad to take a dive in the biggest fight of his life while I was sitting in the audience watching. Dad refused and won the bout, and the Fixer had him killed." He drew a deep breath, as memories of that horrible night washed over him. 

"I went ahead with graduation, Foggy and I set up the our law practice together, and ... I met Karen." He paused as new memories replayed themselves in his mind. "I wanted to bring Dad's killers to justice, but I knew no one would take a blind man seriously as an investigator, so I created Daredevil." He took a sip from his water bottle and grinned at Dick. "Your turn. How long have you and Barbara been together?" 

Dick frowned at him for a moment, but before he could answer, a group of people left O'Reilly's building. 

"That's her!" Dick exclaimed, his heart rate picking up slightly. "Mrs. O'Reilly." 

"I guess the birthday party's over." 

"Looks that way. Okay, it's now six o'clock. According to Barbara's informants, if Jim stays true to form, he'll leave in about forty-five minutes. Think we should shift over to the car?" 

Matt concentrated on the sounds coming from the apartment building. He narrowed his focus until he was sure he was listening to Jim O'Reilly's apartment. A shower was running. "Yeah, let's move." 

They packed up their things and returned to the rather battered car that Dick was driving today. The two men sat and watched the building in silence. Matt thought about re-asking his earlier question, but he really needed to keep an "ear" on what was happening in O'Reilly's apartment. Fortunately, Dick realized what Matt was doing and did not distract him. 

At 6:40, Matt turned to Dick. "He's coming down." 

A few minutes later, Jim O'Reilly, a tall, lanky man with thinning hair, walked out of the building, whistling. He hailed an approaching cab and got in. Dick waited until the cab was about a block away and then started the car and followed. 

"How good are you at following cars?" Dick asked as he drove. 

Matt smiled ruefully. "Not as good as I'd like. It's hard to track an individual car's exhaust unless there's something really distinctive about it." 

"Gotcha." He touched the receiver behind his ear. "Babs, you got a minute?" 

"Sure, what'cha need?" said a cheerful little voice. 

"Do you have me on your scope?" 

"Always." 

"You see the car about a hundred yards directly in front of me? Whoops, he just turned right," Dick said as he prepared to turn as well. 

"Got it. That's our boy?" 

"Yeah. I don't want to risk losing him." 

"I'll keep an eye on him." 

"Thanks, sweetheart." Dick kept a discreet distance back behind the cab, occasionally changing lanes to avoid being too obvious. Ten minutes later, the cab pulled over in front of an old warehouse that had been converted into a trendy club. O'Reilly got out and took a place in the line that was forming outside the front door. Dick pulled over as well and turned to Matt. 

"Okay, you keep an eye on our boy while I find a parking spot. It's getting dark, so you'll need to take the cane. You have the communicator I gave you?" 

Matt grinned and opened the car door. Now Dick _definitely_ sounded like his mentor. "I've got it. I'll see you in a few minutes." 

"You bet," Dick promised as he drove off. 

Around five minutes later, Dick came jogging up. Matt frowned. Admittedly, making out the shapes of clothes was a little difficult for him, but it appeared to him that Dick was wearing something different. 

"Sorry, I'm a little late," he explained as he reached Matt. "It took a while to find a good spot." 

"O'Reilly just went in." 

"Okay. I'll keep surveillance on the inside, so why don't you change into the 'long johns' and take over on the roof?" 

"Why do you get to go inside?" Matt asked, curious. 

Dick grinned. "For one thing, because I thought to bring something appropriate to wear, and you would be too conspicuous in there, anyway. Mainly, because while you could track O'Reilly from inside or out, _I_ can only track him on the inside." 

"Oh." Matt was a little surprised at Dick's honest assessment. Most of the heroes he worked with would probably not admit they were inadequate in some fashion. Neither could he imagine Batman conceding such a thing -- or at least explaining it that way. Finally, he nodded and walked away to change. 

By the time he climbed onto the club's roof, Dick was already inside. Matt pressed the receiver/transmitter behind his ear as Dick had shown him. 

"Dick?" 

He heard laughter, music, and then Dick's voice saying, "... no, I'm sorry, I'm meeting someone." 

"Dick's a little busy right now," Barbara said, laughing. 

"I can tell." 

"All right, all right. I have O'Reilly in sight. You in position, Matt?" said Dick, in mock annoyance. 

"Yeah." 

For the next half-hour, Matt split his attention between the growing line of patrons outside, and the entertaining sounds of Dick fending off women and men trying to pick him up. Without warning, a hint of a familiar aroma tugged at this senses. Focusing his attention down below, he noticed that a woman had just stepped out of a cab. As she walked to the front of the line, he realized she had Asian features, and he caught another whiff -- this was definitely the scent he had detected at Munroe's apartment. 

"Dick!" 

"... Look, you don't want to mess with my girlfriend. She gets _mean_ when she gets angry." 

"Dick!!" 

"What?" 

"She's coming in!" 

"Okay, what's she wearing?" 

Matt groaned. "How should _I_ know? I think it was some kind of floaty dress thing, but that's all I could make out." 

"Sorry, force of habit. Well, we know where she's headed, anyway. Whoops! I think I found her. Babs, am I sending you a clear visual?" 

"Yeah, I've got it, Former Boy Wonder." 

Matt tensed as he listened. "She asked O'Reilly if he was alone. He just offered to buy her a drink. His voice sounds a little off." 

"I know what you mean," Dick replied. "His whole body language just changed." 

After several minutes of rather heavy-handed flirting, the big moment came. "This is it!" Matt exclaimed. "He just invited her back to his place." 

"Yeah, they're paying their tab. Get ready to shadow them, and keep in touch. I'll follow you as soon as I can." 

"Got it." Matt detected the couple coming out of the club. "They're getting into a cab now. I'm on my way." 

Readying his billy club, he prepared to fly away into the night. 

~~ End Chapter 7 ~~ 


	9. Chapter 8 (Conclusion)

** ~~ Chapter 8 ~~**

With the ease of long habit, Dick fired a new grappling line as he disengaged the one on which he was swinging. He was still about a mile behind Matt and the taxi, but he was gaining ground rapidly since he could "fly straight." As he swung around the buildings, he remembered something he meant to ask Barbara. 

"Babs? Could you check something for me?" 

"Like what?" 

"You've still got those copies of Charles Hammond's photos?" 

"Yeah." 

"I was just wondering ... Could you age that little Vietnamese girl about thirty years and compare her to the visual of the suspect?" 

"Funny you should mention that," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I just finished doing that very thing. It's not a perfect match, but I'd said it was _very_ close. I think Rosie is our suspect." 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, smiling. "I'm not sure how useful that will be, but it might make a difference down the road." Looking ahead, if he squinted just right, he could make out the form of Daredevil leisurely swinging through the night. "Matt, I think I'm about a hundred yards behind you. Any indication that they're not going to O'Reilly's apartment?" 

"Nope," Matt snorted. "After O'Reilly gave the address to the cab driver, he and the woman have concentrated on their attempts to perform mutual tonsillectomies." 

Dick snickered in response, and he could hear Barbara's giggle in his earpiece. "Mutual tonsillectomies, huh? I can see how such an important medical breakthrough would require a lot of ... practice." 

"Oh, they're practicing diligently, all right," Matt replied, with a laugh. "Whoops, medical research time is over. They're at O'Reilly's apartment." 

Dick could see that Matt was landing on the roof of the apartment building. A few seconds later, he joined the man in red just in time to see O'Reilly and the woman disappear into the building. While Matt monitored the couple's progress up the stairs to the third floor, Dick climbed down the side of the building to perch on the ledge of O'Reilly's bedroom window. After making sure the ledge was sturdy enough to support their combined weights, he whispered to Matt that it was okay to come down. In his ear, Barbara whispered that she was being summoned by the JLA, so she would talk to him later. 

Now came the part he had been dreading. Sure enough, through an opening in the drapes, he could see their target and their suspect ripping each other's clothes off. He sighed. 

"Hey, at least you can close _your_ eyes," grumbled Matt. 

Dick snorted softly in reply. He began paying more attention as the action shifted over to the bed. Without warning, the woman's behavior changed. She pushed O'Reilly down onto the bed and moved into a kneeling position over him, straddling his legs. She began swaying from side to side in motions that were both sinuous and erotically graceful. Dick was able to catch a quick glimpse of O'Reilly's face -- his face, which had been vacantly passionate before was now simply vacant. He turned to Matt. 

"What're their heart rates like?" he whispered. 

Matt scowled. "All of a sudden, hers is so low, I'd almost swear she was asleep. His on the other hand, just hit the roof." 

"You'd never know it from his expression," said Dick, as perplexed as Matt. 

As he watched, the woman's movements became more and more violent, although O'Reilly never reacted. Even when she finally allowed him to join with her and his body had tensed in climax, his expression remained blank. As he sank back down into the bed, she remained in a kneeling position above him. 

"This should be it," Dick whispered to Matt, who nodded. 

The woman began swaying again and pulled out one of the hairclips that held her thick hair back from her face. Dick gasped as the small enamel and silver pin became a huge knife, with a cobra's head for a pommel. She held the knife in both hands and raised it high in the air. 

Immediately, Dick broke the window and leapt into the room with Matt right behind him. 

"Hold it, lady!" he yelled, hoping to distract her. It worked; she turned to look at him. Unfortunately, as soon as Dick looked into her eyes, he found himself unable to move. He watched her leave O'Reilly and idly noted that her pupils were now vertical slits like a cat's or ... a snake's. As she stalked toward him, now holding the knife in her right hand, he could hear Matt yelling for him to move. In the back of his mind, a little voice that sounded an awful lot like Bruce also yelled for him to move, but moving would take a lot of effort. It would be easier just to stand here and ... **THUD** Matt crashed into him, breaking his eye contact with the woman, freeing him from her thrall. 

She screamed hoarsely in anger, and suddenly she dropped the knife to the floor and changed from a woman into a large, black and gold cobra. She turned to Matt. "How dare you interfere with my prey!" she hissed. Dick could see that she was trying to hypnotize Matt the same way she had him, but was obviously unable to make eye contact. Dick took advantage of her distraction and grabbed O'Reilly, who was beginning to regain his senses, and shoved him out of the bedroom. "Get out of here and call the police!" Dick shouted at him and closed the door. 

When he turned back, he saw that Matt had managed to get a grappling line around the cobra's "neck" and was attempting to choke her. Dick leapt on the back of the cobra and wrapped his legs around her neck, adding his strength to Matt's. She moved back and forth violently, and Dick thought she was trying to shake him off. Then he saw her tail reach for Matt. Like the cobra she resembled, she moved quickly -- too quickly for even Matt to dodge. She wrapped her tail around Matt and threw him against the wall; he hit hard and lay stunned. Then she used her tail to pluck Dick from her back and brought him around to face her. This time, he avoided making eye contact as he fought to free himself. 

"It'sss ssso much more enjoyable when the prey ssstrugglesss," she hissed as she bent over him. 

Without warning, she screamed again, this time in pain, and Dick found himself falling to the floor. He looked up to see that a large man with a broadsword had severed the cobra's tail. The man, who had reddish-gold hair and wore a tan colored jumpsuit, faced the snake fearlessly. Before she could attack again, Dick watched with horror as the swordsman, with one swing of his blade, lopped the cobra's head off. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

"That's when the weird stuff _really_ started!" he told Barbara as they sat on her couch later that night. She had contacted him just as the police were arriving, so he promised he would explain everything when he came over. He finally got to the clock tower around 1:30 am, and she fed them both a very late dinner. 

"A snake-woman and a mysterious guy with a sword aren't strange enough?" she asked, sarcastically. 

He snickered. "Not even _close_! As soon as the cobra's head was cut off, she changed back into our girl Rosie, who dropped to the floor unconscious. Mysterious-guy then salutes me with his sword and says 'Dza devlesa.' I hear Matt groan as he comes to, and I turn to check on him. When I turn back around, sword-guy is gone." 

"Dza-what?" 

"Dza devlesa. It's Rom for 'God go with you.'" 

"A mysterious guy with a sword who speaks Rom and disppears," she repeated, puzzled. "Do you think sword-guy pulled a Bat-style disappearing act on you?" 

"I don't see how he could. I was between him and the window. Here's the next strange thing, though. When I asked Matt what he thought of the guy, Matt didn't know what I was talking about! He didn't detect the guy, nor did he hear him." 

Barbara whistled softly in response. 

"Yeah. _Then_ Rosie regained consciousness and started crying. While I was trying to get her calmed down, Matt tracked down O'Reilly and brought him back inside to get dressed. When he walked back in, we hit pay dirt. Rosie confessed to everything -- the attack on O'Reilly _and_ the four murders." Looking down at his empty cup, he interjected, "Hang on, I'll get us some more coffee." 

When he came back, he sat down, handed the two mugs to Barbara, and casually lifted her into his lap. She grinned and handed him his mug. "Much better!" he sighed. 

"Okay, where was I? Oh yeah. Rosie, who managed to get to the U.S. as one of the 'boat people', got involved with some sort of really freaky cult about three years ago. Her 'inner guide' convinced her that all her problems in life were the result of being abandoned by her 'daddies.' The guide suggested that what she needed to do was to eliminate the 'false' children of her daddies, and then the daddies would love her and take care of her." 

"That's sick!" Barbara exclaimed. 

"She claims that once she agreed to all this, the guide told her when and where she was to meet each victim. From the moment she met the victim, everything then became dream-like. Then she would wake up, and she would be naked, in a strange room with a dead man, and blood all over her hands, but it wouldn't bother her. This time, though, when she 'woke up,' she realized everything she had done, and it horrified her." 

Barbara frowned. "And you believe her?" she asked skeptically. 

"Maybe," shrugged Dick. "The main thing, in my opinion, is that she told the same story to the cops when they showed up. She knew details about the three New York murders that only the murderer would. Plus, she had the murder weapon. That should be enough to get Clancy completely off the hook." 

"Great!" 

"Yeah. Matt figures she'll be released in a few days, so I'm going to try to head back there to pick her up, depending on my shift schedule." 

"Before you head anywhere, Former Boy Wonder, _we_ are heading off to bed! I'm tired, and you look wiped out." She scooted off his lap and into her chair. As she rolled out of the room, she paused and turned her head. "Well? Are you coming?" 

Dick grinned and got up to follow her into the bedroom. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next morning, Dick rode his motorcycle over to Wayne Manor, enjoying the bright summer day. Over breakfast, Barbara mentioned that Alfred had called and wanted to see him before he went back to Bludhaven. He drove up to the side entrance nearest the kitchen, and rapping on the door, walked inside. 

Alfred walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Master Dick! It's so good to see you, young sir!" he smiled. 

"Hi, Alfred," Dick replied. "I was planning to come by to see you anyway, but your message to Babs last night sounded very mysterious. What's up?" 

For one of the few times Dick could remember, Alfred looked a little hesitant. He wiped his hands some more and seemed to come to a decision. 

"Why don't you come with me to the breakfast room, and we can talk." 

Dick followed the older man into the large sunny room and sat where Alfred motioned him. Alfred disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and then returned bearing a tea tray and cups. Still silent, Alfred poured a cup for himself and Dick and then sat down across from him. 

"Master Dick, would it be safe to say that you experienced something ... odd ... last night?" he finally asked. 

Dick gave a short laugh. "I think 'odd' is a bit of an understatement, Al. It was _bizarre_." 

"May I ask in what way, sir?" 

Dick summarized the case and everything that had happened. "The thing I find really weird is the guy with the sword. He showed up just in time to rescue me, spoke Rom, and then disappeared. And I'm the only one who saw him," he finished. "The other weird thing was the way I felt." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I didn't tell Babs, but when I first saw him, I was more scared of him than I was of the snake-woman! He was just so _big_ and so ... _bright_. Then, he spoke a phrase I remember my dad using a lot, and suddenly, it was as if he was family. I just don't get it." 

One of the brightest smiles Dick had ever seen suddenly appeared on Alfred's normally reserved face. "That is truly wonderful, Dick! Truly wonderful." His smile became a grin at the look of puzzlement on Dick's face. "Let me explain, young sir." 

He took a deep breath. "For years, I have been watching as Master Bruce, and then you, and others have gone out each night on Master Bruce's ... crusade. Early on, having to sit by and wait, fearing I would hear that one of you had been hurt or ... killed nearly drove me mad. Then I realized that there _was_ something I could do. Each night I find a few quiet moments and pray. Most nights, my prayers are simple ones asking that all of you be given strength and wisdom and that you would return safely. Sometimes, I may pray about a specific case. Last night, though," Alfred stopped and shook his head in wonder. "Last night I received an almost verbal command to pray for _you_ specifically and extensively. I also received a verse: Ephesians 6:12, so I stopped and looked it up." 

A tentative, almost shy smile appeared on Dick's face. "I never knew you prayed for us, Alfred." 

Alfred ducked his head a bit as he got up from the table. "I was always somewhat ... reluctant ... to discuss that part of my 'duties' with anyone, especially Master Bruce. It was wrong of me, perhaps, but I was not sure how he would take it." He walked over to the buffet and brought back a large book that was lying on top. Dick could see that it was Alfred's well-used Bible. He opened to a marked page and began reading in his wonderful, stage-trained voice: 

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places." 

He put the book down and continued. "After reading this verse, I became gravely concerned, so I prayed earnestly for your safety. After some time had passed, I felt a sense of peace and ... comfort. Another verse came to me, although this passage was more familiar: Psalm 91:11-13. And after what you have told me, I cannot think of anything more apt." 

He flipped to another marked passage and read: 

"For He will give His angels charge concerning you,   
To guard you in all your ways.  
They will bear you up in their hands,  
Lest you strike your foot against a stone.  
You will tread upon the lion and cobra,  
The young lion and the serpent you will trample down." 

**~~ The End ~~**


End file.
